


My Recollection

by Kitexa



Category: Scrubs
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Drama, F/M, Injury, M/M, Romance, Sexual Confusion, Work In Progress, slight homophobia, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitexa/pseuds/Kitexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Season 5. Waking up with broken bones and jumbled memories, you're bound to have more than a few questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I used to write Scrubs fanfiction all the time. A long. LONG. Time ago. Rewatching it again inspired me. I'd like to continue this, but time is always an issue... anyway, enjoy!

There’s nothing better than waking up after a long night. After pushing yourself through a twelve hour shift (or ‘hell’ as a select few individuals call it) it’s easy to lose perspective.  The tiniest thing can set a person off; be it an external factor or your own insecurities come up to bite you. I’ve been here long enough now, I’m usually able to balance it, but every so often, you’ll feel that cruel push off the tip of the ice berg.

I smile to myself a little burrowing deeper in the blanket nest around me.  _I’d need a killer sled…_ and something to break impact with the ocean. I wonder if toboggans float…

Abruptly, the fantasy cuts short, a sharp pain lancing up and down my fingers. As much as I hate to give in, my eyes open, blinking sleepily at the cast poking out from beneath my comforter. Perplexed, I carefully adjust myself, now on my side, uninjured arm keeping me upright. It lasts all of five seconds before the chilly air that is December draws me back under the sheets.

 _Let’s try that again._  

My arm slides out alone, this time, bare skin goosing where the plaster ends above my elbow. _That explains the pain._ Some of it, anyway. The more awake I grow the more aware I’m becoming of an unpleasant throb behind my eyes.  Another blink, this time deliberate, trying to piece together what I did last night. I’m assuming this is from last night. To be perfectly honest, the last few days feel like a blur, right now. _That’s probably because you just got up._ Probably.

Still, it’s frustrating when you can’t fill in the blanks, and eventually, frustration wins out… well, that and the urge to pee, but I’m stubborn and the air is cold. Although it shouldn’t be that bad, I bought long-sleeved jammies just for this occasion.

…which begs the question of why my arm is bare. _You’re wearing a cast, what do you think?_

Good point. I might still be working off a daze, but the JD from last night must have been thinking more clearly. We keep tee-shirts on hand for a reason… although a robe would have been a smarter choice, but my roommate’s booty call seems to think it’s his, so I’m forced to go without. (And no, I’m not asking for it back, I can’t stand the guy at work, no way am I talking to him, here.)

It’s right then my bladder reminds me why I caved to aggravation. We’re still a long way off from a sleep-and-flush world… _although that might present problems for us menfolk. I should talk to Turk about the technicalities—you’re drifting again, stop it._ Right, right. Bathroom first, fantasize later.

_One, two, three…_

I hold my breath as I sit up, bracing for the cold. It comes up harsh as the sheets slide down my belly. Harsher than I expect, at first, until I realize I’m not actually wearing a shirt. I realize further this extends to my lower half as well; just before I stumble out, I grab the top-most blanket, wrapping it around my waist. There’s no real reason to, but waking up alone and naked rarely means anything good.

After finishing my business, I return, substituting my previous covering with a towel; the blanket tucked under my arm. I say tucked because folding is a challenge when you’ve only one hand free. Turns out I think I broke something. Or fractured... I’m still not sure. Either way, it’s cumbersome. And painful, although I think I mentioned that. _I should ask Perry when I get to work._ Or maybe call for an examination. Walking to and from the bathroom, I’ve discovered I’m sore all over. Different than my hand and headache (less intense, what feels like muscle stiffness) but concerning nonetheless. _Was I hit by a car last night? Pranked too intensely by the Janitor?_ Maybe I walked into something, it happens more days than not…

I pause, double-backing to the bathroom. If I hit the ground in any way, there should be some physical evidence. A bruise, scrapes, hell, I’d put my money on stitches, the way my memory’s been, this morning.

What I see is not what I expect. In any way, shape or form.

There is a bruise, I was right to that degree… but only one, between my neck and shoulder blade. My cheeks begin to burn, and for a moment, a wild excitement fills me. _Did I bring a girl home last night?_ That would explain the nakedness. And the stiffness. And the... headache, if I met her at the bar. Hell, maybe that’s where my memory went. It doesn’t take much to get me drunk.

The solitude concerns me, though. I haven’t had a girlfriend recently; if this girl isn’t still in bed (and she’s not, I can see as I head back in) chances are she isn’t waiting for me in the kitchen.  _Swing and a miss, eh, Dorian?_  Maybe the cast was a turn off…

A slight sigh drops from my lips, tossing my blanket onto the bed. I’ll ask Elliot to help fold it, later. She wouldn’t turn down a friend in need. At least, I don’t think she would. There are days I doubt she can see anything over the six-foot-something man candy attached to her … heel, at work, but I wouldn’t put it past them to hook up in a supply closet.

I grimace, pushing away the thought. It’s bad enough I see the evidence at home; I don’t need to picture hot and heavy hospital action.

Right about then, the scent of flapjacks fill my nostrils. I smile, hope renewed. Maybe the girl I slept with stayed after all. I don’t think anyone else is here… I hope not, anyway. I could use an easy morning. Shrugging on a pair of sweats and tee-shirt, I push open the door, searching for my lady. _Please let her be tall, dark and gorgeous._ And willing to do it, sober, but we’ll cross that bridge, later.  I’m on call later in the day, but this hand-thing still concerns me…

“Morning, Doctor Dorian.”

I froze.

That was no woman’s voice.

 Venturing further into the kitchen, I discovered the source was no woman, either.  Which both explained the tone and how they knew my name. I’ve used the doctor thing before on girls but they always forget, the morning after.

I would’ve taken it over the sight before me, now.

“Good morning, Keith.” Wouldn’t be Elliot if she didn’t leave her things lying around… in nothing but a pair of sweats as well, dammit, he always does this.  _We can’t all be chiseled out of marble, stop making me look bad._

I took a seat at the table, scrutinizing, still. If it weren’t for the pancakes he so carefully flipped, he’d have heard a piece of my mind. That, and I couldn’t help wondering if he’d seen my mystery woman leave, this morning.

“Say, Keith.” I said, turning slightly in my chair— _ow_ , that hurts: note to self, stretch after breakfast— “Did a pretty lass happen to walk through here, earlier? Perhaps looking thoroughly satisfied?”  I would have critiqued my use of purple prose if Keith hadn’t done the unexpected thing and _blushed._

“Uh… no. Nobody came through.”

I quirked a brow, cheekiness curling the corners of my mouth. “Come on, I know you’re pulling my leg. If you tell me where she went, I’ll see if she has an available friend.” Instead of the smile I hoped to evoke from Mister Perfect (or the quivering resolve Elliot told him to believe in) I earned only a harsh tone, and a downwards gaze.

“There was nobody here. It’s just… us, okay?” 

Keith went quiet after that, though I continued to study him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked hurt. Huh… _I wonder if Elliot dumped him._ Of course, they’d have had to been dating for that to occur, but he wouldn’t put it past Keith to misinterpret something (see? He isn’t perfect.)

…As much as I enjoy private gloating, my morning circumstances tugged at my mind, again. As it did so, apprehension coiled around my belly. Ruling out this mystery girl for a second (she still could have left late last night) I began a mental diagnosis, trying to put together my condition.  Unfortunately, that’s hard to do with pieces missing. _Maybe Turk knows…_ as I debated retrieving my phone, Keith came over, setting a plate down in front of me. Two pancakes with a square of butter and syrup. Just like you see on TV. Surprise stopped short, annoyance peeking through again—isn’t there _anything_ wrong with this man?

He spoke before I had the chance to ask.

“Do you … need help?” He held out a fork, looking from me to my breakfast. “Elliot said you should take it easy for a while.”

“Elliot said” I retorted, tempted to roll my eyes. “Elliot can say whatever she wants, Keith. I think I know myself better than she does.”  I wish I could say I swiped the utensils from him. Sadly, strength has never been my forte, so I played my specialty: stare until he’s so uncomfortable he has to hand them over.

Surprisingly, it worked. Thank you, diagnosing skills. “And thank you.” I finished aloud, far less sincere than the nod I’d given my gifts. No one wants him here, and Elliot doesn’t count because sexual needs are not the same as civil toleration. If she weren’t boinking him on a nightly basis, he’d see a lot less of her friendly—“Ow!”

Fork and knife clatter against the glass plate, latter utensil toppling onto the table below. Syrup pools around its blade; it’s a small concern to the needles jabbing through my hand.

“Are you alright, JD?”

“No, Keith, I’m not.”  I snapped, cradling my hand as best I could. Dammit _dammit,_ “What happened last night?”

That earns a pause from tall, blond, and oddly reserved, this morning. He takes the end seat, next to mine, treating my frustration like I’d addressed him, personally.

“You don’t remember?”

“No, that would be why I’m asking.”

Keith stiffens, then, his jaw muscles clenching. I probably shouldn’t have barked at him; however great my disdain, he did make flapjacks. In fairness, how else should I react, waking up as I did?  

“.. you came to work, drunk, yesterday.” Confessed the other man, at last. It didn’t sound like a confession, though… if anything, he seemed concerned. “Broke a bathroom mirror—we had to put you on an IV drip to dilute your system.” He paused, then, tension thick in the air. I swallowed, waiting and wishing I weren’t. _That’s not me, that can’t be me…_

“…you got in a fight with Doctor Cox over going home.” Keith continued, the weight in his words piling onto my building shock. “He finally let you, under supervision, but…”

But what? _What else did I do?_

“I was the only one off, so they sent me with you...” He trails off here, though I can’t be sure why. Doesn’t matter, honestly; my head’s reeling and something in my chest is far too tight. _I can’t believe I did that, what do they think of me now, oh Doctor Cox must be so ashamed--_  
  


“..are you sure you don’t remember anything?” Starts Keith again, abruptly, so much so I nearly miss it. Trying to keep myself composed, I shake my head. It’s a partial truth at best; as it runs around my mind, flashes here and there begin surfaces. Glimmers of words, faces… nothing concrete enough to answer with a nod.

The other man’s elbows slide forward, rubbing the back of his head. “Oh boy… uh…shit.” He looked up at me, conflict stapled to his face. “Doctor Dorian, you…”

I what? Oh, no, no I’m fired, aren’t I? Five years down the drain, dammit DAMMIT.

“…you made a pass at me.”

…what?

“… what..?” I blinked, still riding an anxiety attack. “Are you..” _breathe, Dorian._ “… are you saying I hit on you?” On _Keith?_ (On a guy??)

Keith cringed. “Not exactly. You were…still pretty wrecked by the whole thing. I um..” he looked away, then back. “I thought I heard you crying, so I-I came over, and uh--”

 “For the love of everything, Keith, _what happened??”_

As a doctor, it’s pretty easy to recognize the signs of a panic attack. Caught in my own, I failed to notice his.

“I swear I thought you’d remember, JD. I asked you if you hated me and you said you needed someone and – and you kissed me first!”

_WHAT?_

“Keith, there’s.. there’s no way that happened, I’m not…” No. Nononononono NO.

“You’re not, huh?” Replied _Elliot’s_ booty call (hers, she’s attracted to him, not me, she needs him, not me, I couldn’t have kissed him, I _don’t_ like him!) Hurt, unmistakable this time, seeped into his face. “Because you’re the one who initiated, last night.”

“But I—”

“I knew you weren’t alright.” Keith hurried on. “But you said—you insisted you were fine, and I—SHIT!” Head ducked again, clutching at his hair. I couldn’t be sure (and I wasn’t really listening _dammitdammitDAMMIT_ too many things were starting to make sense) but I thought I heard him mutter “I thought we connected.”  I’m not sure, I couldn’t hear over my heart thudding frantically in my ears. It was either that or something about trying to help, either way it didn’t matter, something happened between us and given my unusual situation this morning, the pancakes, his lacking a top with Elliot nowhere present I’ve got a pretty clear idea what did.

“I—” I rasped, throat tight, blood roaring, “I need to—go—” Clambering to my feet, I raced back to my room, condemning my twinging muscles in a frantic search for my phone. Finding it, my shoes and wallet, I spun back around, yelping as my encased appendage knocked against the doorframe.

“Doctor Dorian—” Comes Keith’s desperate voice, behind me. I can’t bother with it now. “You’re not supposed to —”

“I’m not supposed be a lot of things, Keith!” I bark back, pulling open the door. I’m not supposed to show up, drunk, I’m not supposed to break hospital property, I’m certainly not supposed to bicker my stability back and forth with my mentor and _I am not interested in Keith!_

He recoils, then, in the second I glance over my shoulder. “JD, it wasn’t my fault…” 

One foot in the hallway, now, I let my eyes trail back to him. He looks like he’s going to cry. _I feel the same._ “You’re the one who remembers it, Keith. That speaks for itself.” Spinning back around, I shut myself out before hearing his answer. I don’t care who started it, I don’t care who continued it, it’s happened and I…

… I have no idea what to do, now.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tackles themes of homophobia.

I don’t know why I ended up at Sacred Heart. I guess when you can’t go home, you’re bound to be drawn to the only other place that’s ever felt like it. Plus, I really needed to talk about last night, and everyone I knew seemed to be working at the same time. Unfortunately, in my haste to get away from Keith, I’d forgotten what he said about the day before.

Until I walked through the front door.

“Hey.” A familiar voice calls out. I raise my head, tucking my scooter helmet under my arm. _The Janitor. Of course._

“Out of my way, Chewbacca.” I dare to snap back (I say ‘dare’ because he usually perceives aggression as a challenge) “I’m not in the mood.”

“Chewbacca,” Janitor echoes, followed by a condescending chuckle, “Because I’m hairy, that’s funny.”

It isn’t, and if his tone is any indication, he was gonna make that clear.   _Just ignore him, you’ve got more important things to deal with._

Nonetheless, I stop and turn around. “No, because you’re, like, nine feet tall.” Sometimes I wonder why I never listen to myself.

He scowls. “Chewbacca was only seven feet. How come you don’t—”He cuts himself off, raising a hand as if to emphasize. “You know what? It’s not important.”

 _Here it comes_. I brace myself, awaiting whatever brand of freshly brewed revenge he planned to throw in my face.

To my surprise, Lurch folds his arms; it’s then I notice the malevolence I’ve grown used to seems absent from his eyes. Instead, there’s something else. I’d venture an exact label, but this bizarre display puts me on edge. A malicious Janitor I know how to deal with. Anything else is uncharted territory.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Continues the older man, and I see it again, this… concern..?.. flickering in his gaze.  That’s new… and slightly unnerving. Was yesterday really so bad I made _him_ worry about me?  “I thought Kelso gave you time off.”

“I—” actually, I hadn’t heard that, before now _._ Something else I’ll have to ask about, I guess. However, I couldn’t let the Janitor know this, and as there was a fifty-fifty chance he wasn’t being rhetorical, I decided to skirt around it.  “For your information, I’m here for some answers.” There’s an uneasiness in my tone I pray he doesn’t pick up; if I can just get through the hall, I can latch onto someone and prevent him from interrogating me.

Until then, I’d have to be careful.

“Answers about what?” There’s the accusation I’m used to, although it’s still missing hostility. His eyes drop from my face to my encased arm. “Didn’t stunningly handsome intern-doctor fill you in?”

Stunningly handsome intern… _Keith, he means Keith_. My stomach freezes, and for a second, so does the rest of me. _Calm down,_ scolds the voice in my head, _there’s no way he’d have found out about that._ Still, this is the Janitor we’re talking about. Anything is possible.  

“He didn’t get around to it.” _What with being so busy seducing me and all._ I’m unable to hide the grimace that follows, nor the sudden burn that usually indicates a rising flush. _Stay cool,_ I tell myself, although I feel like I’ve a belly full of snakes. Nobody, including invasive custodial staff, could have seen me and Keith… I can’t finish the thought. However, my face must have betrayed my previous efforts to conceal this emotional influx, because the Janitor’s brow goes up, and that feeling I correctly identified as worry shines more prominently.

“You alright there, Dorian?”

 _‘No’_ was about the biggest understatement I could make, as well as a potential doorway to a conversation I didn’t want to have with the man who regularly tortured me. Even if he was essentially expressing interest in my well-being…

“I’m fine, thank you.” I retort, hoping the smugness I was aiming for comes through over anxiety. I didn’t go to theatre camp for nothing.

Janitor’s scowl returns.  “You don’t _look_ fine.”

I match his glare with one of my own, abandoning theatrics because apparently ‘insightful’ also means ‘a difficult audience.’ Plus, I can taste bile in the back of my throat. “Who asked you?” I growl, sharply turning to again face the corridor. Before he can reply, I’m off, heading to wherever my friends are, and wherever here isn’t.

“This is a bad idea!” He hollers after me, but doesn’t give chase.

“Not listening!” I throw back over my shoulder. I’m done playing this game of twenty-questions. I need to talk to someone who isn’t completely insane.

First, I need to find the nearest restroom. I think I might actually be sick…

Thankfully, I’ve worked here long enough I could probably navigate this hospital blind-folded. Cupping my good hand over my mouth, I duck— well, scramble, it’s more like a scramble by the time I actually reach it— inside the first bathroom I see. Throwing open a stall, I nearly topple into the toilet below me, just catching myself on my knees. _Breathe, JD, come on, through your nose, there’s no reason to throw up over this._ Besides the growing fear I’d been suspended and the whole… Keith thing. At this point, I don’t know which was worse. Oh, and I hadn’t eaten since last night, either. That was probably part of it…

“Ugh…” I gurgle, trying to settle my stomach. I wish I knew why I couldn’t remember yesterday. The images had grown stronger than they were this morning, but everything still felt jumbled, and some memories I didn’t want to come back. Like why I’d seek out my arch-nemesis for comfort. Or why I’d let things escalate. I know I’m not the epitome of the manly heterosexual, but I think I’d know if I were attracted to men.  I mean, it’s not like he’s Turk, and we’ve known each other forever.

_Are you implying you’d sleep with Turk?_

No!

_What about that period of ‘Turk fever’ in college?_

This isn’t about whether or not I’d sleep with Turk (which I wouldn’t because we’re best friends and I am very attracted to women) this is about Keith and whatever circumstances led up to us… led up to that happening.

  Uttering a small groan, I finally stand back, convinced, for now, the nausea’s gone away.  Note to self; locate nurse’s muffin basket. It should still be early enough, and Carla would hopefully be there as well. _Two birds with one stone._

I comb through my hair as I step out of the stall. I didn’t notice it this morning, but now that I’ve had some time to calm down, I am mildly horrified I haven’t washed or moussed my hair. Not as horrified as waking up and realizing you’ve spent the night with a man for the first time, but still enough to earn a pout into the mirror.

“Dammit...” I murmur, aloud this time, scratching my head. I consider splashing water on my face, fixing my hair; were it not for the cast on my arm, I probably would have. Since I didn’t have anything to cover it with, and it wasn’t waterproof, I settled for wetting one hand and running that a few times through my bangs. Wasn’t perfect, but hopefully looked more presentable. Given what I’d hoped to discuss, I thought it mildly important.

Also, I might be stalling.

“Okay, you can do this.” I tell my reflection, and briefly imagine it nodding back, as if it were its own person. _I feel like that would get annoying after a while…_ the fantasy ends abruptly, and before I know it, I’m face to face with the door.

Right. I can do this.

Sucking in a breath, I push past the exit and re-enter the hall. For about ten to fifteen seconds, everything ran pretty smoothly. Despite whatever mess I’d apparently caused, I still managed to walk past people, unnoticed.

Then the whispering started.

I don’t know if it was going on before, and I just didn’t notice it, or someone singlehandedly pointed me out, but all of a sudden it hit like a swarm of bees.

_“What’s he doing here?”_

_“Aren’t there rules against this?”_

_“I heard they’re going to suspend him.”_

Cheeks burning, biting the insides of my cheeks, I try my best to block it out. Any sensible person knows never to listen to rumors; it’s easier advice to follow when you’re not the one they’re talking about. Especially when they’re not actually rumors, but pieces of a memory you’re still fitting together.

 Rounding the corner, part of me wonders if I’d made a mistake, leaving the bathroom so soon. _Come on, you wouldn’t have accomplished anything, doing that._ I haven’t accomplished anything by not doing it, either, besides picking a fight with the Janitor, and that was before.

At least the nurse’s station was close by. Another turn, one more hallway, and hopefully I’d get away from this.

… unless Lavern was there.  I don’t know what she knew, already, but what I did have to talk about would probably make it around the hospital and back before I finished explaining. My pace begins to slow, an unsettling knot unrelated to hunger in my gut. Come to think of it, Carla was a gossip, too. Very few things confided in her stayed solely her knowledge, for long. At least fifty percent would be shared with Turk, another fifteen percent or so with me, and the rest she’d probably tell Elliot.

 _…_ slowed pace comes to a stop in the middle of the corridor. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want everyone to know.

“Shit…”

Hand rakes through my hair, backing into the wall. Okay, the nurse’s station is out. I need a new plan. _What about Turk? He usually hangs around Carla when you’re not there._ Alright, maybe I don’t need a new plan; I just have to modify this one.  If Turk was there, I wouldn’t need to say more than a few words to Carla. She’d never have to learn anything. 

_And if Turk confides in her?_

He wouldn’t, he’s my best friend, the Chocolate Bear to my Vanilla Bear. He’s kept my secrets before.

_Could he keep something like this to himself?_

“Yes.” I reassure myself out loud, stepping away from the wall. I trusted Turk more than probably anyone else in the hospital, and I knew he knew it, too. He wouldn’t turn around and—

“Holy frick!”

With a shriek, I stumble back, reflexively extending my arm to prevent another unforeseen return to the wall. That plan inevitably backfires as it’s the one I’ve currently injured, and agony splinters through my hand.

“Aack!”  

Cast recoils, hugging it to my chest. Dammit dammit _dammit!_

“JD..?”

Despite the pain stapled to my face, I look up at a very startled Elliot. “…oh hey.” I manage, cracking a strained smile. “Didn’t see you, there.”

She continues staring for a second or two more, then offers me a hand. “It’s…fine.” She says, and even though I detect hesitation, I grasp on, letting her ridiculous strength help pull me into a more upright position. Once I’m standing again, she follows up with the same question I’ve heard since arriving, this morning.  “What are you doing here?”

“Oh I don’t know.” I try to shrug, nonchalantly, which hurts more than I thought it would. “Guess I got lonely at home.” For a moment, I considered ditching my Turk-hunt in favor of the friend in front of me.  Then she said this:

“Isn’t Keith with you?”

I couldn’t talk to Elliot, Keith was her booty call. And even though that meant things remained strictly physical, I can’t imagine she’d react well to the news he’d spent the night with me—who ironically, she also used to date. It was like a weird form of cheating, and an even weirder form of maybe-betrayal. I didn’t want to get caught in the middle, so I pulled out my default reply when dealing with all things Keith.

“You know I can’t stand that guy.”

As I expected, she frowned. “Yeah well, tough tuckus. If Doctor Cox finds out you’re here, hell’s going rain down.”

I wish I could say hearing that lifted some kind of hope that Doctor Cox took an interest in my well-being. I probably would have, if not for the knowledge I’d picked a fight with him. “Doctor Cox doesn’t have to find out.” I replied, then brushed past her. I figured I had a fifty percent chance of being followed.

Judging by the a frustrated and squeaky but equally frustrated “JD!” echoing behind me, she’d be at my side in approximately—

“Hey!” I nearly tripped over myself, forced to stagger back as she grabbed my left arm. “Broken hand here, Elliot!” I turned to glare, only to find a flatter but still troubled expression on her face.

“JD, the cast is on your right arm.”

“…I know that.” I sigh, tension slowly unfurling from between my shoulders. I did know that; I’m a doctor, after all. I just didn’t expect her to grab me, and I reacted with the first excuse I could think of.

While I searched my head for a better explanation, she’d gradually begun to slow down. I didn’t realize it until I felt a tug against my elbow. _That’s odd…_ I thought. As I did, that familiar icy feeling threatened to bite me again. I doubled back, trying to read her expression.

“What’s wrong?”  She didn’t seem upset by the traditional definition; still, something was off.

What she said took me by surprise.

“…are you sober?”

“…yeah.” I nodded, the word raspier than I intended. I should be angry, but I’m not. I’m…I think I’m ashamed. “Yeah, I’m sober.”

Her brow pinches, eyes darting back and forth, like she’s trying to see for herself if I’m telling the truth. When she speaks again her voice is lower than before. “Then why are you here?”

I blink, looking away before settling on her. I don’t have a mirror handy, but that burning in my face has returned, and everything feels much tighter. “I … I need to talk to Turk. It’s important, and I can’t wait, okay?” I bit the insides of my cheeks, hoping she wouldn’t ask why, wouldn’t press me for information, wouldn’t question why I couldn’t just tell her, instead.

“…Fine, JD, I’ll help you.” She relents, rubbing her temples. “If you promise me you’ll leave after you do.”

“…Fine.” I intentionally use the same word; I’ll leave, but I’m not going back home. Maybe Turk will let me stay at his place. We can make up some excuse for Carla. Unless he’s become so married he’ll go back on his word. _Stop it, you guys are stronger than that._

“JD?”

Thought train derailed, bringing me back to the present _._   “I said _fine_ , Elliot, let’s go.”

I didn’t wait for her to keep up, this time, once she’d let go of my arm. My destination was right up ahead; hopefully, my Brown Bear would be too.

Rounding a final corner, a thin little smile claims my mouth. Ah, the nurse’s station, always a welcoming sight. Sort of a check in point for my friends and I. Everyone comes by here at least twice, during the day. It’s a good way to keep in touch when things get busy. Plus, they’ve got that muffin basket. I don’t actually get a chance to take my pick of this morning flavors; the moment I set foot into the area, all eyes are on me.

It’s a funny feeling, being simultaneously judged by everyone around you. Like an ant under a magnifying glass, awaiting the inevitable burn. Sadly, none of those magnifying glasses belonged to my best friend.   _Great._ My heart climbs into my throat. So much for that.

If there were any upside to this situation, it was that most of these people were at best acquaintances. Nameless (and nicknameless) faces who probably heard what happened yesterday through a secondhand source. Nobody I really needed to worry about…except for Lavern, of course.

 “Good morning, Lavern.” I pipe up, with as confident a grin as I can muster. She keeps right on staring at me, forehead gradually creasing as I finish my greeting. “I couldn’t help but notice Turk and Carla aren’t around; you don’t know where they are, right now, do you?” _Come on, hold your smile._ I said no to twenty questions with the Janitor, I wasn’t going to play it with Lavern. Nonetheless, I expect a reply in the same vein as everything else I’d heard so far.

What I don’t expect is her addressing Elliot.

“Does he know he’s not supposed to be here?”

Smile drops. I open my mouth to reply, but a swift (and scolding) hand against my chest cuts me off. “Yes” my fellow attending explains, “but he’ll be on his way as soon as we find Turk.”

“And get one of those muffins.” I chime back in, pointing to the basket. It’s a failed attempt to lighten the mood. I can’t help it; today has been nothing but a nightmare. I could use a pick me up. Also, I’m slightly worried the nausea will come back. I bet that’ll do wonders for my sobriety claim.

“… and get one of those muffins.” Elliot adds, with a scrutinizing look in my direction. I offer a sheepish one in return. It’s all I can think of, in the moment. I’m still shocked she’s helping me, when seconds ago, she was the one interrogating. That’s the great thing about our friendship; we can usually sense when the other’s in need of support. _Or she’s trying to move you along._

I’m going to go with the support thing.

Lavern’s gaze roves back and forth, like she’s searching for more. When this proves unsuccessful, her lips purse, but she brings the breakfast basket forward. “Take _one_ , Q-tip.”

I know she’s probably saying that because I have a tendency to sample all of them at once. Still, it hurts.

“…thanks.” I murmur, shuffling forward to swipe a blueberry one on top. No sooner do I snatch it up does a bellowing voice shatter my balance. The muffin topples to the floor; were the counter not there to catch me, I might have, too. As it is, I curl my fingers securely over the edge, because the man that voice belongs to does _not_ look happy. 

 “NEWBIE!”

Elliot was right: Hell hath no fury like Doctor Cox scorned. Bearded and disheveled, he looks like he hasn’t slept all night.   Beady eyes shoot in my direction, filled with a dangerous fire. “I thought I’d heard tell you’d shown up, here.” He snarls, storming over. “Didn’t think you were dumb enough to actually do it.”

I’m not normally afraid of Doctor Cox. I was, briefly, starting out, but working with him day in and out eventually helped me get over it. Facing the eye of the storm, it almost brought me back to that first year. 

“D-Doctor Cox—” I manage, desperately scraping together a smile. _Oh shit, shit shit, what did I say to him, yesterday??_  If he’s noticed I’ve spoken, he makes no acknowledgement, instead stalking over to me. He’s right in my face now, and it’s all I can do not to flinch under his glare. I never once believed his occasional, casual threats to kill me if I pissed him off _. I wish I had._ Might’ve been useful, right now.

We share a minute of excruciating silence before he speaks again.

 “Go home, Newbie.” It sounds like a warning. _Go home, get out of my hair and I might just let this slide._ Unfortunately, my slowly building panic decides now is the perfect time to break free. Chest constricts, stomach heaves, and the next thing I know, I’m doubled over, expelling my last meal onto Doctor Cox’s scrubs.

_Uh-oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Janitor might actually be my favorite Scrubs character to write as.


End file.
